Once Upon A Tumblr Prompt
by quantumlevitation
Summary: Ten more drabbles based on prompts from my honorable followers.


1. Anonymous asked: Prompt: Luteces 69ing

_CaV Rob and Rosa. For those who haven't read it, in my headcanon, the Luteces have a huge sunken bathtub in their house, for no other reason than I think it would be hella rad._

"Rosalind."

"Hm?"

"Penny for your thoughts."

"Oh."

"Oh?"

She blushes.

Robert swims over to sit next to her, whispers in her ear. "What are you thinking about, Rosalind?"

She leans away, makes a face. "Robert, we're the only ones here. You don't have to whisper."

"Fine then. What are you thinking?"

"I was thinking of the injustices I have committed."

"You mean Anna—"

"No."

"Or Songbird—"

"No."

"Or the thing with Fink—"

"No! Let me finish my sentence."

Robert smirks.

"I had one specific injustice in mind."

He raises his arm out of the water, drapes it across her shoulder. "Go on."

"I have never…pleasured you with my mouth, though you've done so to me on quite a few occasions."

Robert feels a throb of lust, though he tries to calm himself for the moment. "Is this a wrong for which you feel the need to atone?"

"I think it might be."

"Do you have anywhere to be?"

"No. Do you?"

"Not at all. Let us tend to one of your sins, at least."

They dry off and walk over to the bed. Robert lies down and Rosalind crawls up to kneel next to him.

"Actually, I have a better idea, and one that has a certain…appropriateness, considering our situation."

"What then?"

"Turn around and bring your head down here, and your other end near my head."

Rosalind obliges.

"Lie on your side and open your legs."

"Oh. Oh! I'd never really thought of this."

He feels Rosalind's tongue on his shaft and closes his eyes for a minute to savor the pleasure, the newness of it. It has been years since he's received this kind of attention. He then turns to his own task, running his tongue in and out of her and painting in broad strokes between her swollen lips.

"Use your…" panting now, "hand too, Rosalind."

He feels her small hand gripping his base as she renews her efforts. She is gaining some confidence now and he makes a low noise in his throat of appreciation. She flicks her eyes up at him, a rapt and distracted expression on her face.

The point of no return is fast approaching for him. "Rosalind, I'm going to finish, I'm not sure if you want to…"

She does not reply, but continues her work. He closes his eyes and blocks out everything but the sensation of her tongue and hand on him, and after a few more seconds he is spurting into her mouth. After he finishes, he opens his eyes to see her watching him and licking her lips.

"Are you all right?"

"Yes, of course. Anything for science, you know. I'm not surprised that it's so sweet with the amount of sugar you consume. But you've a job to finish as well."

"By all means."

2. Anonymous asked: would you please write one about the first (couple?) time(s) that the Luteces kill(ed) the lighthouse keeper?

First Attempt

Rosalind was kneeling with her fingers on his throat, and she shook her head in irritation as the last of the man's life trickled out through his nose. They filled his pockets with stones and rolled him into the water, then watched as he sank.

Second Attempt

He recovered, and made it up the stairs, and then took a bullet in the head from the old man who kept the lighthouse.

"In retrospect, Rosalind, lighthouses do not maintain themselves."

"As we see. He was more than likely an agent of Comstock, too."

Third Attempt

They prowled up behind the man and Rosalind coshed him over the head with a thick iron bar that they'd found in the boat shed.

For good measure, they decided to tie him to a chair and slit his throat. They looked at each other, and Rosalind handed him the knife that they'd brought.

It was not unlike cutting up chicken, Robert thought. A chicken that thrashed and screamed and bled, but the tension in the tendons was what you would expect from a man's throat, and he was glad that he had brought the good slicer, though Rosalind was pained to lose it.

We'll just wash it in the autoclave, he had said, but she shook her head.

Fourth Attempt

Rosalind found a piece of paper in the desk, dipped her finger in a convenient pool of blood, and wrote "Don't disappoint us".

Robert looked at her with reproach.

"Oh, tell me you're not getting tired of this."

Fifth Attempt

"It's your turn, Rosalind."

"You're so much bigger than me, Robert."

He hands her the knife. "He's out cold. It won't be that hard."

She walks up behind him, tries an experimental cut with the knife. The man stirs a

bit, and she backs away. Robert gestures impatiently with his head.

She backs up, bloody knife in hand, and is about to put her hands on her knees when she remembers, and stands back up. She drops the knife next to the body, and they disappear.

3. Anonymous asked: Really fluffy love confession

December 1893

The snow had fallen all afternoon and now it was night, and the streetlights were on and casting their shadows through the window.

"Let's go outside. I have a sudden urge to build a snowman."

"Robert, it's freezing."

He gave her a look and said in a patient tone, "I know it's freezing. That's why we can build a snowman. I assure you that if I could do so in room-temperature weather, I would."

"Fine. We will go build a snowman. And then we will come inside."

Outerwear donned, they went to the plaza in front of Lutece Labs. Robert had procured coal and a carrot from the kitchen, and a nearby tree supplied sticks for arms. He made a small snowball and rolled it up, and Rosalind did the same for the midsection, and then Robert an even smaller one for the head, settling it on with care.

He was engrossed in making the mouth just so when he felt a thump on the side of his head, and a light spray of snow across his face. Rosalind had – had she actually thrown a snowball?

Brushing the snow out of his hair, he bent down to gather his own weapon and she got one more shot in before he was able to smack her in the back of the head, the flakes clinging to the loose strands of hair at the base of her neck. He ran up to her just as she was bringing a snowball towards his face and he caught her hand as it was about to swing forward, and stopped, looking into her eyes through a swirl of flakes on the breeze.

Whatever he was about to do is abruptly canceled when he realizes how close he is to her face, and the exquisite beauty of that face. She seems to have stilled as well and is studying him.

He lets go of her hand, takes off his glove, and brushes the tip of her nose with one finger. "You have," a catch in his voice that he hopes she understands, "snow on your face."

"Did I?" she says. She reaches her hand out. "You have snow in your hair." Her fingers run through it, a firm touch that is his undoing.

He leans in to kiss her, and she stops him with a hand on his chest. "Not here. Inside," she says curtly, and leads him to the door.

They step into the foyer and Robert slides the lock home, and they look at each other, terrified to move. In the end, Rosalind steps forward, a small step to close the distance and then she is kissing him. His lips and hands are cold, but his breath is warm, and they are the only two people—the only person—in the world.

He breaks away. "I've…I've been trying to think of a way to tell you. I had some sort of plan for Christmas Eve, but…"

Rosalind catches a glimpse of the sloppy smile on her face in the hallway mirror and it makes her laugh. "That's as good a way as any, I suppose."

"So. Ah. Just to make it formal…"

"Yes…yes. I…" Her voice fails her and she whispers. "I know it's stupid, and egotistical, and inappropriate in ways I haven't even thought of yet, but I think I love you."

"And I, Robert, love you, Rosalind, even though I have tried to convince myself in a hundred different ways that I don't."

4. Anonymous asked: the Luteces giving Booker highly impossible tasks. And yes, this is for the OT3

_This is probably not what you had in mind, anon, but it's what happened._

"Where do all the bullets go, Booker?"

"They're right…what the hell?"

"Now fire the gun until the clip is empty."

Booker obliges. When he lowers the gun and opens his hand, bullets shimmer into existence. He reloads the gun and does the same thing again, with the same results.

"And where does the other gun go when you're not using it?"

"It's…what the hell is going on here?" He switches between guns, looking confused.

Rosalind hands Booker a new hat. "This should fit you."

He pulls it onto his head. Robert points at a nearby tree. "Now hit that tree."

When he swings his hand and contacts the tree, a burst of flame comes out of his hand.

"Do you believe us yet, Booker?"

"Listen, you two have sold me a bill of goods in the past. I'm not inclined to believe

much of anything you have to say. Besides, and I know this, I'm not here to provide brainpower. I'm just the muscle in this deal."

"Well, don't believe us, then. Try walking out that door."

He runs into an invisible wall. "Look, this is just how the world works, eggheads. I don't know where you're from but in my world, your clothes give you powers, you can't carry more than two guns without dropping them, and sometimes you can't walk any further even though it looks like you should be able to."

"How about this?" Robert pushes Booker off the edge of Columbia, and he reappears instantly.

"And you can fall off of the edge of a floating city and reappear within a second with a slight headache. Got any aspirin?"

Rosalind goes inside to fetch it, and Robert looks at Booker in silence. Booker looks at what she is carrying.

"A pineapple and cotton candy?"

"Just trust me on this one, Mr. Dewitt."

5. Anonymous asked: lady comstock catches robert alone and manages to seduce him. they have a fling, but rosalind finds out and is furious at robert. robert feels extremely guilty of what he's done

"Lady Comstock. To what do I owe this honor? Though I should warn you that Rosalind is not currently at home, and I see you are without your customary escort. I would hate for there to be the faintest whisper of impropriety."

She pushes past him into the house, and stands by the fire, warming her hands. He closes the door behind her and stands at the entrance to the front parlor.

"At our dinner party last week, you did not seem quite as concerned with the public perception of your behavior."

Robert suddenly finds the pattern on the carpet fascinating. "Well, yes…I was a little too drunk for my own good that night. I am sorry. I did send a telegram to that effect."

She walks up to him, looks him in the eye. Robert looks away.

"Where is Madame Lutece, by the by?"

"At a meeting with…"

"My husband?"

"Yes…I don't know what the meeting was about, though." An uncomfortable realization starts to creep into the back of his mind.

She is coquettish, close to him. Her perfume is conventional, nothing like the home-brewed decoction that Rosalind favors. "I know that I acted shocked at the time, but I was deeply flattered by your attentions, Robert."

He has no response.

"I've had my eye on you for some time."

"You have?"

"I am not…I am a young woman…I have needs—"

"That go unfulfilled?"

She breathes, "Yes."

He has always been struck by her beauty, but has kept the thought remote from his mind, considering the consequences. He was not surprised, then, when Rosalind informed him that, after he had drunk too much on an empty stomach, that he had found Lady Comstock in an empty hallway and kissed her, fondling her breasts.

She seems to be expecting him to kiss her again, so he does. Her lips are full, sweet with the ghost of some sugary tea. He pulls back.

"My lady, you are a very beautiful woman, but…"

Without preamble, her hand slides down to the front of his trousers, and he is almost bent in two by the force of his desire. He closes his eyes and moans while she strokes his growing arousal through the fine cloth. She looks around casually.

"I don't suppose you have a bed here."

"A bed!? No, no beds."

She gives him a confused look. "Well, where do you sleep then?"

"We don't! Sleep, that is. And certainly not together."

She smiles condescendingly, pulls him up against the wall, opens his trousers. She has her skirts up around her waist somehow and her arms around his neck, and she hops a bit to straddle his hips. She weighs almost nothing, he thinks, locating her wetness with his fingers and shoving into her.

At this last she lets out a long sigh and starts kissing his neck. Everything that is a terrible idea about this dissolves as he finds a rhythm, returns her kisses. She is making small sighs with each thrust that are a delight, and he smiles into her neck.

The sound of the front door of Lutece Labs slamming is a considerable one. Rosalind marched into the kitchen where Robert was eating a cookie and threw her purse on the table. Several pieces of glassware went flying.

"Rosalind?"

"Are you fucking Lady Comstock?"

Shocked by the directness of the question, he blurts out the answer. "Yes."

Aware of how stupid it sounds even as it's coming out of his mouth, he says, "She started it."

Rosalind draws breath to speak several times and lets it out as a hissing between her teeth before she can manage any further speech. "She…she _flounced_ up to me in my office, and made a number of the most v_ulgar_ insinuations about the two of us…what did you tell her?"

"Nothing. Nothing at all. It was just…"

She eyes him. "No talking, just sex?"

"She said that she had…needs."

"Which you were only too happy to fulfill?"

"She…I'm sorry, Rosalind."

"Please at least tell me that you didn't fuck her in our bed."

Robert startles. "No! No. Never."

"Then where…I don't think I want to know. I don't want to know anything."

She marches out of the room, then wheels on her heel. "No. There is one thing I want to know. That you will never touch her again. That you will go, now, up to Comstock House, and inform her that your little _fling_ is over."

She walks up to where he is standing, grabs him by the tie, pulls his head down, and kisses him savagely, biting into his lip. "You. Are. Mine. You will do well to not forget that again."

7. Anonymous said: fluffy christmas lutecest

December 24, 1893

The snow drifted along the paths of Soldier's Field and overhung the eaves, and the wind breathed sparkling clouds whenever it shifted to blow the new-fallen powder.

If a window of the buildings had been left unlit, Rosalind could not see it; the world glowed with their illumination. Though they could take the city anywhere, to any climate, Comstock always requested snow for Christmas, and they were more than happy to deliver.

They had decided to go out for a walk, and discovered that the promenade had been transformed, with stalls selling hot cider and cinnamon almonds, and lush ropes of greens and wreaths of holly sending out their fragrance to passersby. A group of carolers stood on the corner, their voices twined.

"What child is this, who, laid to rest,

on Mary's lap is sleeping?

Whom angels greet, with anthems sweet,

while shepherds watch are keeping?"

Rosalind smirked to herself at their choice of hymn, though she could not help but thrill at the ancient tune. She saw across the way a vendor was offering sleigh rides behind a pair of mechanized horses. Turning to face Robert, she could see that he was looking at the same sign, and they ran over.

Installed in the sleigh underneath a pile of furs, the night air blowing, Rosalind found Robert's hand, and held it tightly. She did not dare move any closer to him than she was already sitting, but he glanced over at her. She saw that rather than his usual cool expression, his eyes were alight in a way that she knew few people had ever seen, and her heart raced at the thought that she was the reason. She wondered what her face looked like; probably the same, if the past was any guide.

The mechanized horses made their programmed turn onto a long, empty lane, with only a few streetlights. Rosalind looked around, and when she was satisfied that they were out of sight of any human she slid over to Robert and gave him the long kiss that she had been wanting to give him all evening. He was startled at first, but relaxed into it, and they kissed until they drew close to inhabited streets again.

Robert said in a low voice, "Rosalind, I don't know if you had any plans for tonight, but if you're free…"

She looked at him, a sly expression on her face. "I am free. Completely, gloriously, utterly free. What did you have in mind?"

"Your Christmas present."

She assumed a look of innocence. "Christmas presents are traditionally exchanged in the morning, Robert."

He whispered in her ear, "I'll give it to you tomorrow morning, too, if you want."

Rosalind's face was beet red. "Let us go exchange gifts, then."

8. Anonymous said: robert starts hemorrhaging at the ..wrong times

_Partially inspired by an skype RP with some-creep last week._

(The girl is beautiful and she says yes, she loves him, yes—)

"Robert, you're tossing and turning. What is wrong?"

"Nothing, I'm just…I don't know."

Rosalind rolls over and puts her hand on Robert's forehead. "You don't feel warm." She moves her hand to his neck, takes his pulse. "Your heart is racing, though. When did you have your last cup of tea?"

"About two o'clock."

"Well, that's not it then." Rosalind purses her lips, looks at him in thought. "Is there anything else you can think of?"

(A wedding. His wedding? He is standing before a minister and he forgets the words. Everyone laughs—)

"I can't keep my mind from wandering. Whenever I let my guard down I keep seeing another world. I can't understand what's happening there or who I am, or who the people are."

"Hm. What if I tried giving you a back rub? That helped last time."

"If you're willing."

"Well, it's not like I'm getting any sleep otherwise."

Robert rolls onto his stomach and Rosalind sits up, straddles him, starts rubbing his shoulders. He had not realized how tense he was, and the first presses of her fingers into his muscles are agony. He takes a deep breath, lets it out, tries not to tense up.

(The forest is deep and green, and they are walking, the woman and the young boy)

Rosalind has found the muscles under his shoulder blades, and the pain brings him back into himself. It had taken her some time to get better at massage – at first she unerringly hit every single bone under his skin – but it had been a major part of his recovery. He relaxed into her hands.

(Playing with blocks painted to look like a town. The young boy is smashing the horse into a building and Robert reaches out to stop him—)

His lower back now, she knows that it is one of his worst areas. She starts at his spine, strokes outwards. She settles her weight in and the warmth between her legs on his back is starting to make him hard.

She hears the catch in his breath, and he knows that she knows. They'd finished these sessions that way on many occasions. She keeps working up and down his spine, gentle over his ribs, deep pressure into his shoulders again.

(The house is quiet. It is their first time alone together. She stands at the other side of the room, still partly dressed. He stands, walks over to her, removes her clothing. She lies down on the bed, and he—)

"Rosalind, can we—"

She regards him. "We can try. Though if you start feeling ill, we'll stop."

He rolls her onto her back, kneels between her legs, thrusts into her.

(the house is quiet, and he is on top of her now, her face is pale and resigned—)

Rosalind has her eyes closed, she is still, but he can hear her breathing—

(He finishes, though it was touch and go for a moment, with the pain that he sees on her face. She runs to the bathroom and cleans herself, blushing. She lies down and rolls over, away from him—)

He feels the warm rush of blood run down his lips, onto Rosalind's chest. She opens her eyes to see dark spatters on pale skin. "Robert, stop! Stop immediately!"

He rolls off of her, runs to the basin that they keep on a small table. She follows him, nude, holding the towels to his face, then running to the phonograph to put on his favorite record.

After a few minutes of leaning over the basin, the music has done its work and the bleeding has subsided. Rosalind is looking at him with concern as she gathers up the towels and strips the bed.

"That was foolish. I blame myself. I was the one in my right mind, not you. What were you seeing?"

"I…was I married?"

"You may have been. It's not beyond the realm of possibility."

"Did I…leave her?"

"I don't know. I think this is the first time you've ever mentioned it."

She goes downstairs to fetch him an infusion, and he drinks it gratefully, then settles down in the bed that she has made while he was sipping it.

Rosalind watches until he goes to sleep, then takes the towels and sheets into the kitchen to soak them in a bleach solution overnight. The astringent odor burns into her nostrils.

_She found the photographs and the letter in his things when she undid the bundle to try to find other clothes for him. Written on the back of the formal photograph were three names and the date– Mary, Robert, and Robert Jr. 1892. His wife and child._

_He had mentioned them in their communications, telling her how excited Mary was that he was embarking on such a journey of discovery, and how he only planned to stay a week, then return to her._

_But he had fallen ill, and she had forgotten about the items in the confusion of the first week, and by the time she remembered about them she was madly in love with him._

_She found them when she was straightening their room one day and it was the work of a moment to throw them in the fire._

The linens prepared, she went upstairs to check on him. He seems fine, so she prepares for bed herself, and nestles into his back. A few doubts drift through the back of her mind, but she shuts them out, listening to the wind howling through the streets.

9. Anonymous said: GOOD MORNING QUANTUM. REQUEST: AU WHERE ELIZABETH GAMBLES HERSELF AWAY.

She'd never seen the man before, she was quite sure, but he seemed somehow familiar. A bit on the prim side, he was looking around at the racetrack as if he had never seen one before, and was pretty sure he didn't want to see another. He looked well-heeled, though he didn't have any betting slips in his hand. When he noticed her looking at him, he approached her.

"I think you might be the one I'm looking for. I—"

"Shh, I've got money on this one."

They went out to the stands. The horn blew to start the race and the horses thundered past. Elizabeth watched with a sinking heart as her picks trailed behind, one going so far as to fall head over heels at the back of the pack.

He was looking at her again. "Well? Did you win?"

She scoffed, threw the ticket on the ground.

"You are here a lot, then?"

"I'm a lot of places a lot."

"And by the way your eyes are continually scanning the crowd, I'd guess that you owe people some money."

"All you have to do is ask around about that one. Doesn't take a master sleuth to figure that out."

"What would you say to a proposition?"

Elizabeth regarded him warily. "I'm not that kind of girl. Yet."

He shook his head, laughed. "Oh, no, no, not that kind. I'm not interested in you at all in that regard. But I have a job for you that I think you'd be perfect for."

"What is it?"

"Well, it seems that a gentleman of my acquaintance – a terribly eccentric sort – has a position available in his household. The previous occupant died under very sad circumstances, though there is no danger to you. The duties would not be heavy, and there would be a chance that you could succeed him in his business, if you work out."

"What kind of business are we talking about here?"

"Nothing illegal. All above board. Though I'm not sure how picky you can afford to be."

"How much money, then?"

He came in close to her ear. "All your gambling debts paid to start. Mr. Comstock can't have people bothering you all hours of the day. And then forty dollars a week."

She stared at him, open-mouthed. He looked at her, saw the fraying cuffs on her jacket, the worn soles on her shoes.

"And you will need to move to live near my employer, though I suspect that will not take much effort."

She opened her mouth, closed it again. "Sold. Whatever this crazy old man wants me to do. Just take me there."

"Father Comstock will be pleased. Right this way, then."

10. **Anonymous said: LUTECEST VALENTINES FLUFF**

He hears her come home and runs to the door.

"Close your eyes."

"What? Why? Robert, what's going on?"

"Fine. I'll cover them for you."

He stands behind her and puts his hands over her eyes. She tries to push them away, but he is insistent.

"Fine. I'll go along with whatever this is."

"Good. Good. Come into the study."

It takes a moment to get the rhythm of walking together, but they manage. A faint red glow is creeping in around the edges of Robert's fingers.

"OK. Now."

Rosalind opens her eyes.

The room is lit low and filled with small glass hearts in red, pink, and white, floating each in their own place, some being blown by the breeze of their passing. The few small lamps are reflected half a hundred times and beads of colored light dapple the walls.

Robert walks over to the corner where a rose is floating, and pushes it toward her. She catches it, and tucks it into her hair.

"This is…"

"I know. Half of you wants to scold me for wasting so much energy on something frivolous, like we've always promised ourselves we wouldn't do."

"Yes. And the other half – fifty-one percent, that is – thinks that this is, hands down, the loveliest thing that's ever been done for me. How long did this take you?"

"You don't want to know."

She settles into his arms for a kiss. "You're probably right."


End file.
